


Something Wild

by harperhug



Series: Canon Fodder [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/F, F/M, Hurt Laura Kinney, Hurt Steve Rogers, Interrogation, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Starvation, Suicide Attempt, Unrealistic Technology, Unsafe Gun Practices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7904017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harperhug/pseuds/harperhug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers meets the legendary Winter Soldier during an unusual STRIKE mission, not that he knows it until he wakes up in the hospital recovering from a bullet he took specifically to save the Soldier’s life. He's the only one who's ever survived the Soldier, someone who will do anything to protect his identity if the repeated assassination attempts are anything to go by. But when none of those attempts work, and SHIELD begins to use ever-increasingly brutal methods to find the Soldier, Steve starts to wonder whose side he should really be fighting on.</p><p>This story is complete, however, due to unusual circumstances, I will be adding one more chapter later that will just be the link to her art. The final chapter count will be 10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Maps Drawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lizziebeth157](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizziebeth157/gifts).



> _Sometimes the past can_
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> _Make the ground beneath you feel like quicksand_
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> 
>  __To lizziebeth157 for introducing me to Stucky and getting me hooked. This is all your fault.

“Heat signatures give us a hundred and thirty-six hostages, and eleven hostiles, including this guy,” Brock Rumlow tapped on the SHIELD-issued tablet so that a man with close-cropped hair filled the screen before passing it over to Steve directly in front of him. “Name’s Batroc, Algerian mercenary. Guy’s got a rep for maximum casualties.”

“‘Maximum casualties,’” Steve echoed, “so he’s HYDRA?”

“Not as far as we can tell, but there’s no way the man who ordered the hijacking isn’t,” Natasha Romanov said as she zipped herself into a stealth suit. She was the only one not strapped into a seat, somehow managing to stand despite the rocking of the submarine.

“How can you be so sure?” Steve wondered how long it would take before he stopped feeling woefully uninformed.

“Because STRIKE doesn’t do hostage negotiation, Cap,” Rumlow teased.

“That’s Avengers stuff,” sitting beside Rumlow, Jack Rollins mentioned SHIELD’s crown jewel in a more serious tone. “We usually just take out the hijackers and call it a day.”

Steve rolled his eyes at his former rank. “I know, I’ve been working with you guys for three years, and I’ve been out of Afghanistan for more than twice that long.”

“Yeah, and look at how much progress we’ve made since then,” Rollins muttered so quietly that Steve wasn’t sure he was meant to hear.

Rumlow cuffed him on the back of the head. “Hey, show some respect. If it weren’t for this guy, we’d be talking to each other in a crater right now.”

“Why are we the ones rescuing the hostages, if that’s not what STRIKE does?” Steve asked loudly, hoping to derail the conversation.

Natasha grinned and sat down next to him. “It means no one cares about collateral damage,” an icy knot tied itself in Steve’s gut, “so at least one of the hostages is an informant who’s got something _very_ valuable for us.”

“I’m guessing you know who,” Steve tried not to let his tone sound too challenging. The fact that SHIELD had its fingers in so many pies wasn’t exactly a secret, but Steve still had difficulty reconciling himself with how rotten some of those pies were.

“You ready to give the orders, Cap?” Rumlow popped the P like a teenage girl would pop gum, grinning like he knew this was riling Steve up.

Steve swallowed his irritation, refusing to give Rumlow the satisfaction, and stood up. “O’Malley, you take Pierre and Williams through the vents and set the charges every twenty feet,” as he spoke, Steve pointed to the agents in question. “Gutierrez, Johnston, Duende, and Chang, take one window on the hostage floor. It’s dark, so don’t worry about being seen, but be careful. No one wants your scope to reflection anything and give away your position. Rumlow, Rollins, and I are sweeping one sub-floor each with the heat scanners.” Steve tried to contain his nausea. Brock and Jack were the most experienced agents on the STRIKE team, eager and able to help him lead his missions, but he still hated working with them.

“…-ov’s going to stay with Crawford on the phones and try to get into their cameras,” Rumlow said, breaking Steve out of his reverie.

“Right,” Steve nodded in what he hoped was a decisive way. “You all have your floatation devices in case we need to draw their fire?”

Heads bobbed in nods.

“Hold them up, let’s see!” Rumlow hollered. When the orange and white circles were lifted in the air, he nodded sharply. “Okay, excellent. We’re heading to the bridge, Romanov. I’m ceding command of the submarine to you.”

“You mean _Rogers_ is ceding command,” Natasha responded, giving Steve a commiserating look. “I’m opening the doors in five minutes,” she called out after the agents who were leaving.

The moment he saw the mesh floor, Steve felt the panic that had been his companion for seven years. The initial rush of water was his least favorite part of any mission: the cold, the push backward, the disorientation. He knew it was temporary, that regaining his sense of direction would take less than a second, but the initial rush of freezing cold water still gave him pause, and the fact that he was standing next to two specimens of fragile masculinity didn’t help.

Steve took a deep breath and tried to ground himself. Feel his gun, holstered next to his right hand with three full magazines hooked up to his belt in front and behind it. Feel his oxygen tank resting against his left thigh, thirty-six hours of air and attached to a breathing tube so thin he could barely feel it going in. Feel the radio resting ag-

Fuck, he’d forgotten his radio, and the doors were opening to a roar of water. Steve squeezed his eyes shut, sucked in a breath, and held it, knowing he was only making things worse. By the time he opened his eyes, Rollins was a pinprick in the distance and Rumlow was turning around to look at him. Cursing himself, Steve kicked out and struggled to catch up, but even when he reached the cruise ship, he spent such a long time climbing up the side that Rumlow had to reach out and help him up the last few feet.

“Thanks, Rumlow,” Steve nodded gratefully.

“Ooh, don’t thank me yet, Cap. You’ve got the lowest floor,” Rumlow’s smile was full of teeth, and he tossed a heat scanner at Steve’s chest.

The lowest level of bedroom suites was pitch-black, save the moonlight filtered through brackish water. The heat scanners were no help; the hijackers were thorough, rounding everyone up and taking them to the top deck so they’d be visible to helicopters.

Something rustled to Steve’s left and he turned, hand already reaching for his gun. But even the heat scanner showed nothing, and slowly, he relaxed and let his hand fall to his side.

That was when the arm wrapped itself around his neck like a vise.

Steve dropped his head scanner and reached up, but his assailant’s arm might as well have been stone for how well Steve managed to budge it. The assailant grabbed Steve’s arm and twisted it behind Steve’s back. At this angle, Steve could see a silvery flash and a strangely familiar bruise on his assailant’s face. An extremely competent fighter with a prosthetic—signs pointed to a recently-returned veteran experiencing some kind of traumatic flashback, meaning it was time to start fighting to disable rather than kill.

Steve used the assailant’s grip as an anchor around which he swung around to bring his knee up to the assailant’s stomach. The assailant curled in on himself with a wheeze, and Steve relaxed too early. He just barely got his hand up to keep the assailant from sticking a knife directly in his heart. Instead, the blade sank through his palm, and he screamed.

Now it was his assailant’s turn to relax too much. Steve slammed his hand against the wall to remove the knife just before reaching both arms around his assailant’s neck. Hands immediately reached up and tried to pry Steve’s grip loose. Steve avoided the frustrated kicks when that tactic didn’t work, and tried not to listen to the assailant’s panicked breathing.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not letting go until the gunfire started.

Steve dropped his assailant in surprise and was rewarded with a metallic punch that made his ears ring. He exaggerated his stagger until his assailant got closer, then allowed the momentum of his sway forward pin the assailant under his body.

“Hold your fire!” Steve shouted when the shots grew closer. But the shooting didn’t stop, and several had already torn through the paper-thin walls around the open closet that was probably where his assailant had been hiding. Said assailant froze for an instant before curling into a protective ball, and this gave Steve just enough warning to position himself between the assailant and the soon-to-be-vaporized wall before the spray of bullets passed over them.

One of them made their way into his bicep, leaving a red-hot streak, but that was nothing compared to the one that buried itself in his stomach. He managed to hold out until whomever was firing started doing so in another direction, but he was on the floor feeling like something had exploded inside him. Something was digging into his shoulder, and if there was room for anything besides the pain, Steve might have worried about how long it took him to recognize the familiar lines of his gun.

Distantly, he registered his assailant moving again, but this time he pressed a cold metal hand against Steve’s stomach. The pain, which could not have been worse, increased a hundredfold and he threw up on his chest, letting out a soft cry when this aggravated his injury even more. Slowly, awareness that his assailant was now trying to save his life trickled in, followed by the horrible realization that the gunmen were getting closer, again.

Steve managed to take his gun out of his holster and slide it a mere three inches closer to the veteran.

“Shit,” the bruised man said, not taking the gun, instead holding up two hands partially covered in bloody bile. “Are you crazy?”

The cold started to chase away the pain, so Steve forced himself to breathe deeply and felt the burn all the way in his chest. _Come on, Rogers, you pathetic little coward. Once a small man always a small man. Prove them all wrong. One more thing, and then you can join them._ “Go,” he mumbled, trying to push the arm off his stomach. “Tell Nat that Rogers sent you,” he hoped he managed to say before speech became impossible. This time, when the pain gave way to cold darkness, he didn’t fight it.


	2. Plans To Hang Your Hopes On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I said this would update weekly. I lied, this will update at least once a week, but it'll probably update twice or three times a week depending on how good my internet connection is.
> 
> Here is amazing art by the also amazing [xedotic](http://xedotic.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. Go shower her with compliments!
> 
> Scroll to the end for content warnings specific to this chapter.

The faux-cherry scent of Helen Cho's favorite hospital antiseptic told Steve where he was before he even opened his eyes. The sound of a worryingly fast pulse hit his ears a second before the pain hit his everything.

“About time,” Natasha mumbled, covering her mouth and hastily shoving something behind her back.

Steve tried to speak with his dry throat and even drier tongue, which only sent him into a coughing fit that felt like he was repeatedly impaling himself on a white-hot rod. Natasha grabbed a tiny paper cup and filled it with ice chips that she let him take one at a time. After three, Steve felt human enough to try and speak again.

“The civilian,” he rasped. “Did he get out?”

The smallest wrinkle appeared in Natasha's forehead, and Steve couldn't help but smile. Either Natasha trusted Steve to let him see her confusion, or he'd been around her long enough to learn her tells. “All of the hostages are safe,” the spy said slowly.

“The veteran,” Steve tried to stop clenching his teeth and breathe slower through his nose. “He was hiding. I think he was having some kind of PTSD episode. I must have gotten too close. It wasn’t his fault,” he added quickly.

“Is he the one who shot you?” Natasha asked. “Why do you say he’s a veteran?”

“He was fast, strong, knew how to fight. He incapacitated me. And he had a metal arm with a...I think there was a black star,” Steve nodded at his own shoulder, currently immobilized in a bright white sling attached to the ceiling. When he looked back at Natasha, her face was bloodless and both hands were trembling. Steve knew offering to stand up and let her take the bed would be a bad idea, not least because doing so would give him yet another reason to need it for himself. Instead, he nodded at the little plastic container in Natasha’s hand.

“Are you eating my jello?”

It worked. Natasha gave a small smile and her hands steadied themselves. “It’s apple,” she pointed out. “You hate apple.”

“I hate _banana_ ,” Steve argued, mostly to be contrary. “It doesn’t taste like regular bananas at all.”

Natasha scoffed and reached for something behind her. “All those years eating MREs in the desert haven’t given you any appreciation for fruit, huh?”

Exhaustion started to slip over his thoughts like a creeping fog, and Steve realized she must have dialed up his morphine drip. He let his head fall back against his pillow with a groan.

“I’ll buy you a whole carton of jello if you go to sleep now, alright?” Natasha’s smile was full and genuine this time. “Apple _and_ banana.”

“Ooh, look at Ms. Moneybags over here,” Steve murmured, eyes slipping closed even though he wanted to see Natasha’s reaction.

“I’ve been promoted,” Natasha said proudly. “Personal bodyguard to one Tony Stark.”

Steve’s eyes popped open, and he made one aborted attempt to sit up before the still-burning rod in his stomach reminded him what a bad idea that was. “You’re an Avenger?”

“Yup,” Natasha said boastfully, but she was blushing and averting her face.

“That’s great, Nat,” Steve said honestly. “I’m really happy for you. I’m not mad that you’re hiding something,” he added, painkillers making him honest. “I’ll miss you.”

Natasha gave him a sharp look he was too tired to decipher before slipping back under.

* * *

_“Good job, guys,” Steve nodded to his team. The Howling Commandos returned his wide grin, and together they walked back to their tank._

_Their tank shouldn’t have foot-tall letters saying HYDRA in blood. Steve tried to call out a warning, but sand drove itself down his throat and the ground wrapped itself around his legs. He was trapped, unable to do anything but watch as the blood turned into red tendrils that curled around his teammates and dragged them away, screaming._

_“Help! Please!” Dum-Dum cried before the tendril wrapped itself around him completely_

_“He won’t do anything,” Falsworth glared at Steve. “He’s a coward who doesn’t deserve to be called our leader.”_

_Peggy and Colonel Phillips appeared out of nowhere in full uniform. Steve, tried to gesture to the Commandos, but the ground wrapped itself around his arms, too._

_“I took a chance on you when no one else would! I gave you command because I thought you could make good decisions!” Phillips berated._

_Peggy shook her head. “You weren’t worth it.”_

_They walked away, and Steve struggled to break free. In front of him, Dernier spat blood, convulsing and reaching for him before going deathly still. But no, this was wrong, he’d taken much longer to die, too long, hours…_

The invisible rod stabbing Steve’s stomach was much cooler, probably thanks to Dr. Helen Cho’s synthetic skin finally being integrated with Steve’s real tissue, but his muscles screamed, and Steve turned his head to confirm what he already knew; someone had turned off his morphine drip. Steve braced himself for the pain as he forced himself into a sitting position. A shadowy shift on his right was all the warning he had before two arms, one flesh and one metal, pressed him back onto the bed.

“What the hell are you doing?” the not-civilian asked in a harsh voice.

“About to press the panic button if you don’t get off me,” Steve hoped the lie wouldn’t be too visible in the darkness. He didn’t even know what a panic button was, let alone whether there was one in easy reach.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Well, there went that plan. Steve tried to lift rubbery arms up to fight and succeeded only in getting one to flop like a dying fish and the other to make a slight tear in his bandages.

“Why did you save me?”

Steve stared at where he thought the not-civilian’s face was. “I thought you were a combat veteran,” he said before he could stop himself.

“I’m not, so there’s no reason to risk your life for me,” the not-civilian let go of Steve’s shoulders and hopped soundlessly off the bed.

“There’s a reason,” Steve said softly. His eyelids started to feel heavy; the not-civilian must have turned his morphine drip back on. “Anyone who’s in trouble is worth saving, and if I’ve got the chance to do that, then I have to take it.”

The not-civilian snorted, but just before Steve went under, he thought he felt metal fingers brush his chin before tucking the blanket around his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Steve has a nightmare in which Dum-Dum, Dernier, and Falsworth die while he's suffocated by sand and the ground rises up to freeze his limbs in place.


	3. Every Road Felt So Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pierce has some questions. He also has a ring and a paperclip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some recycled dialogue from the Winter Soldier movie. For those of you who don't have the whole thing memorized, if it sounds good, it's not mine. Also, please note the change in the total chapter count.

“You need to stop leaving the window open,” Dr. Cho’s snappish voice woke him up and simultaneously told him how bad a day she was having.

“Sorry,” Steve hated how blurry his voice sounded, but at least it made Dr. Cho speak more softly.

“You have a visitor, by the way. Not Director Fury. I told the man to get out of my hospital, which means he’ll be back here the minute I go check on my patients across the hall,” Dr. Cho sighed.

“Hi, Steve,” Natasha walked in and closed the door quietly, earning herself a smile from Dr. Cho. “Sorry, I meant to come earlier.”

“I was asleep,” Steve responded with a wave of his hand. “The Avengers need-”

“The Avengers don’t have a mission right now,” Natasha said gently, sitting next to him and taking his hand, making Dr. Cho smile beatifically. “I’ll kiss him right now for 30% of whatever you put in the pool,” she offered.

“Aw, Nat, no,” Steve shook his head.

Dr. Cho nearly choked. “You need to stop hanging out with Clint,” she groaned as she left. “He’s the only one who lands here more often than you.”

“You know you love him,” Natasha said playfully.

Dr. Cho wagged her finger in Natasha’s face. “No,” she shook her head. “I’d lose $50 if I started dating him, not to mention I don’t look good with white hair.”

Steve and Natasha laughed, but the lighthearted moment passed as soon as Dr. Cho closed the door.

“Do you know who shot me?” Steve asked.

Natasha looked apologetic, embarrassed, and angry all at once. “A couple of the kidnappers wiggled away and made it down to the lower levels, where you were. When you didn’t show up on the heat scanner, Rumlow assumed you weren’t there. Now we think that whatever the Winter Soldier did to mask his heat signature masked yours, too, because you were so close.”

“The Winter Soldier?”

“That’s who I think you fought,” Natasha said suddenly. When Steve turned to give her his full attention, she continued, “Most of the intelligence community doesn’t believe he exists. He’s been credited with over a dozen assassinations over the last five years.”

“So he’s your standard-issue assassin,” that didn’t fit with a man who would sneak into Steve’s hospital room just to tuck him in.

“Last year, I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran; somebody shot out my tires near Odessa. We lost control, went straight over a cliff, and I pulled us out, but the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer, so he shot her,” Natasha lifted her shirt to reveal a blotchy scar, “straight through me.”

“And you know it was him?”

“Fury figured out the trajectory of the bullet, and he found silver scrapes right next to where a sniper would line up his rifle.”

Steve threw his own arm over his eyes. “Metal, right.”

“We weren’t sure until you mentioned it,” Natasha confessed.

“What?” Steve opened his eyes again.

Before Natasha could answer, Nick Fury strolled in and drew all eyes to him like diva would—which, given that he deliberately walked in so his longcoat billowed behind him like a cape, he was definitely trying to be.

“Congratulations, Captain,” great, even _Nicholas J. Fury_ was referring to him by his tabloid epithet, “you are officially our most valuable agent.”

Whatever Steve was expecting the SHIELD Director to say, it wasn’t that. “Sir?”

“You are the only person the Winter Soldier has tried to kill who lived to tell the tale, so, for the safety of all his future targets, you’re going to start telling it.”

“Nick, come on,” Alexander Pierce walked into the room as casually as if he owned the ward. Given what Steve knew about him, that might actually be true. “The man can barely keep his eyes open. Our questions can wait.” He gestured for Fury to leave and, _holy fuck_ , Fury actually listened.

“Secretary Pierce,” Steve managed to sit up without too much effort. “I’d rather do this before I get the chance to forget anything.”

Pierce smiled magnanimously. “Well, alright,” he nodded for Natasha to leave the room, which she did only after a minute’s deliberation and clear reluctance. “So, I hear you and the Winter Soldier shared an unfortunate encounter,” he extended a hand for Steve to shake. As he did, the light reflected off his ring, which was designed by two skeletal faces surrounded by six curling, tentacle-like lines that gave it the overall appearance of a mutilated octopus.

Scott Lang from Finance used to claim it was the logo for an online hentai exchange forum. It had been a comedic moment until Rumlow asked just a little too harshly why Lang knew such websites existed in the first place. Lang had sputtered out some explanation that only grew more confusing and incoherent as Rumlow grinned more and more widely. Steve remembered trying to step in, but Lang had made a hasty retreat and still continued to make himself scarce around the STRIKE team.

He supposed he should’ve been grateful. Rumlow’s former teammate’s unsettling aggression, even for him, was probably the only reason the conversation was so memorable that the design stuck in his mind.  Because Steve only now remembered the _other_ place he’d seen that design—the Winter Soldier’s bruise. There was no reason for an online hentai collector to strike an internationally-feared assassin hard enough to leave a mark. Something else had to be going on.

Getting information was Natasha’s specialty, not his. He lowered his face in what he hoped was an “aw shucks” kind of way that people started to expect from his first post-Afghanistan interview was his first choice.

“I don’t remember much,” he tried to sound more tired than he felt. “It was too dark for me to see much.” There, neither of those were lies.

“I understand you had a gun out,” Pierce’s voice was still mild. “You didn’t fire.”

“I thought his immediate violence was a symptom of PTSD,” Steve dared to look straight at him. “He’ll need protection.”

Pierce stared at him with an inscrutable expression. “I see,” and a shiver of shame ran down Steve’s spine. “Why don’t you tell me what you _do_ remember?”

Pierce didn’t believe him. Fuck.

Steve felt his heart beating too fast, too hard, and forced himself to take a deep breath. _Medical is the most surveilled wing in the building_ , he reminded himself. _Pierce can’t do anything to me here_. But once he got out…

Realizing he’d inadvertently dragged the silence out too long, he said, “I thought I heard a sound from one of the suites, so I went in to check it out.”

“Did you share your suspicions with anyone?” Pierce’s voice dripped with cloying concern.

“No,” Steve looked up again.

“So, you had no idea what you were about to encounter, and you had no backup, but you went in anyway.”

 _Shit._ “Everyone had their own duties, sir. I didn’t want to pull someone down for a fallen pillow.” He forced himself to straighten his spine— _ow_ —instead of curling further in on himself. Even if he couldn’t talk Pierce into revealing what he knew, he could take advantage of his own reputation for honesty and obstinacy. If he could just figure out how to best frustrate Pierce and relay that information to Natasha, she could figure out what they were dealing with.

But Pierce didn’t rise to Steve’s bait. The bland, polite smile returned. “I commend your courage, Captain. What happened once you were inside?”

Steve had to take a moment to collect his thoughts. The conversation was shifting direction so rapidly that he was starting to get lost. “A man jumped out at me from behind and put his arm around my neck,” he answered. Surely, that wasn’t new information; he was still sporting the necklace of bruises, if the hoarseness of his voice were any indication.

“Is that when you took out your gun?”

“Yes,” Steve knew he’d drawn out the word too long like Natasha and Gabe Jones had always laughed at him for. “I think,” he frowned and looked off to the side. “It happened so fast,” he let his voice crack so he could cough and distract Pierce with filling another tiny cup of water for him. “I don’t remember if that was before or after the gunshots started outside.”

Pierce looked like he honestly believed this shit, and Steve felt a pang at his own dishonesty. Then Pierce took a paperclip and pinched several of Steve’s IV’s closed. “I think these machines are interfering with my hearing,” he said jovially. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Steve gritted his teeth. “I could do this all day.”

He couldn’t. By the time a furious Helen Cho and a veritable army of nurses chased Pierce’s replacement interrogator—Karpool? Karson?—away, there were black spots forming in his vision and he couldn’t help but twitch every few seconds as his new skin started to reject Helen’s mesh. At least the sight of Karmen running away from multiple women in powder-pink was pretty funny.

“Well, you’re healing nicely,” Dr. Cho said with sharp irritation all the bedside manner training in the world couldn’t hide. “Do you have someone who can pick you up in the morning?” she asked, tone much gentler. “I don’t mean to rush you, but we really can’t have an interrogator here disrupting our patients.”

“I understand,” Steve said as quickly as the sudden onslaught of medication hit him again. “And it’s more than okay to release me early. I don’t want to stay here. Not that you don’t have a welcoming atmosphere, or something. And you’re all great doctors! I just really hate hospitals. But I don’t hate this one, just hate feeling useless. Not that you make me feel useless,” he babbled.

Dr. Cho snickered. “It’s fine, Steve,” she said, taking her cell phone out of one deep lab coat pocket with gloved hands and passing it to him. “Call the agent who lives across the hall from you.”

“You mean Sam? Because Peggy lives underneath me,” Steve said just to rile her up.

Dr. Cho made a face. “That’s crass, Steve,” she said, picking up the clipboard at the foot of his bed.

Steve flushed. “I’m going to blame the morphine for that one,” he said. “It’s super effective,” he added, again for no reason other than to rile her up.

Dr. Cho nearly dropped her clipboard. “Did Natasha show it to you?”

Steve rolled his eyes and made himself so dizzy that he had to lie back down. “You know I grew up on the Pokemon games, right?”

Dr. Cho hit him with the flat, paperless side of the clipboard.

“Not you, too,” he gave an exaggerated groan. “Is this revenge because you lost the Romanogers betting pool?”

“I’m not trying to set _you_ up with suitable people,” Dr. Cho said. “Besides, I wouldn’t bet my money on what woman you’re seeing.”

Steve wondered exactly how many betting pools had been set up over his love life, and what other ridiculous portmanteaus existed for them. He did, in fact, love the woman he was dialing right now, but there were six reasons calling her for help was a bad idea. Four of them were still alive, and two of them were clearly arguing in the background.

“It’s been a year, Jubes. You need friends who aren’t from the group home,” Sharon’s voice was as piercing as her perception.

“Jubilee, you cannot take Laura with you, and that is final,” Peggy declared. “Sorry, Helen,” she greeted apologetically.

Steve swallowed. “No, Peggy, it’s me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Steve, Helen and Peggy are coming to your rescue!


	4. Find Another Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets a kiss but loses his apartment, and Natasha saves Nick Fury's life, not that she knows it.
> 
> Jubilee is only here because I was mad at how little she was in X-Men Apocalypse. I wanted her to blow up at least one thing, so (spoiler alert) she will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for arson and character death (although if you've seen Winter Soldier, you know where this is going). Also, this chapter is very not Staron-friendly.

__“Alright,” Peggy was too cautious. “Are you still in the ward or has Helen moved you to a proper hospital?” She and Steve winced at the same time. “Don’t tell Helen I said that, please,” she pleaded.

Steve agreed, but he still let out a laugh that made his stomach twinge.

“Can I meet you by the front doors, or do you need me to come in?”

“You should probably come in,” Steve said, frowning at the very idea of having to be wheeled out in a chair.

Peggy hummed contemplatively. “Do you think you could talk Helen into splitting her share of the Steggy pool money with us if we kiss dramatically when we meet?”

“Mom, that’s so gross!” Sharon shrieked in the background.

“Oh, hush, it’s not like you’re the one kissing him.” This, of course, drew out a new round of shrieks.

“How much money is in the Peve pool?” Jubilee asked.

“Enough to buy the blue pumps I know you’ve been eyeing for your birthday,” Peggy said. “And for the hospital visit after you break your ankles trying to wear them.”

"Wait, then what do I get?” Sharon demanded while Jubilee whooped.

“You can go out with that boy to the movies this weekend. Yes, I know about Parker,” Peggy said before turning her attention back to the phone. “I’ll be there at seven sharp. Try to get some sleep.” Her voice softened. “I know you hate hospitals.”

“Thanks,” Steve said before he hung up. He woke up again in the middle of the night, but if the mysterious man had returned, he was too well-hidden for Steve to see. Eventually, Steve fell back asleep until Helen shook him awake at the unholy hour of six in the morning. He repaid her and two unfortunate nurses in full by kissing Peggy passionately, an event that would doubtlessly fuel the soap opera that was hospital gossip for weeks. High on his accomplishment, he didn’t realize his key was gone until he reached his front door.

“My key is still in my equipment locker,” Steve groaned to Peggy and her daughters, all witness to the latest event in his humiliation conga. He rested his head against the door and resisted the urge to bash it. With his skull, there was an actual chance that the wood would give.

“You’re hopeless,” Peggy said as she picked up a welcome mat so faded that it only had four unfortunate letters still visible. “Shit,” she dropped it again over a blank floor. “Did you find a better hiding spot?” she asked in a voice too bright to have any real hope.

“See, I learned how to swear from you, Mom, not Laura,” Jubilee said from downstairs with her arms crossed in front of her chest. “I want to go to the mall with Laura tomorrow.”

Something splashed on the other side of the door, and Peggy and Steve stared at each other in growing horror before Peggy took the standard-issue firearm out of Steve’s bag. “Jubilee, you can go to the mall with whomever you like if you get Sharon on the fire escape right now,” she ordered, already kicking down the door.

Jubilee slammed the door shut in her haste just before a writhing mass of flames covering every available inch of the apartment roared toward the oxygen that the opened door let in. They began to roar back in the other direction when a window opened with a squeak and a black-clad figure slipped through it.

Steve moved toward his bedroom before he was aware of moving, and Peggy grabbed his arm. “Peggy,” he tried to wiggle out of her grip, “I need to my mother’s picture off the dresser. It’s all I’ve got left of her.” Peggy’s grip only tightened. “Peggy, please.”

“You’ve got her here,” Peggy pressed a hand to Steve’s chest, “and this part of her would be very disappointed if you joined her trying to get a photograph out of your apartment, which is on _fire_.”

The tears streaming from his eyes had nothing to do with smoke. Before Peggy slammed the door shut to try and starve the fire at least a little, he thought he might have heard something squeak open, and seen a flash of silvery metal.

He lost that train of thought when blonde streak flew across the first floor, and Sharon Carter pounded on Sam Wilson’s door. Steve was exhausted enough that he didn’t even mind the help. Sam would get everyone evacuated so he could just lie down on the front lawn and sleep.

“Are you stupid?” Jubilee nudged his shoulder with her foot. “Mr. Wilson says you’re stupid for sleeping right out in the open after someone’s tried to kill you twice. Oh, and there’s a…um…Natasha Roman on the phone for you. I hope you didn’t give her our home phone number. Mom would kill you.”

Steve tried to cover his eyes, but Jubilee sat down and took his arm off his face before sitting down next to him and looking down expectantly.

“I didn’t give anybody anyone’s number,” Steve grumbled when it was clear she wouldn’t leave until she got an answer. “Natasha’s just that good.”

“You better not be flirting with anybody else right now if you’re flirting with Mom,” Jubilee said crossly. “You can’t do that.”

“I’m not flirting with-” a man on a motorcycle drove by and threw something at them. Steve rolled over to cover a shrieking Jubilee with his body, and he saw stars when something hard struck his still-bandaged arm.

“Holy fuck!” Jubilee was still shrieking, which definitely didn’t help matters. “Holy fuck, Mr. Rogers, are you okay?” she demanded, prying at his arm and coming away with red-tipped fingers. The pristine white bandages were now charred at the edges and a red spot was slowly spreading.

“SHaron, go back inside!” Steve shouted, looking around for the his attacker-turned-savior-turned-attacker again.

“But-” Jubilee looked between the building and back at Steve, indecision all over her face.

“Go. Back. In. Side.”

Jubilee scrambled up to run back into the building, and Steve was torn between relief that she was running to safety and fear that safety was about to burn down with her still in it. But she returned only moments later with Sam in tow.

“You need to go back to the hospital,” Sam said after a minute. “You’re bleeding again, and you don’t have a lot of blood to lose after all that’s already happened.”

“Not SHIELD,” Steve mumbled.

“That’s fine. The VA will be happy to admit you,” Sam replied, hoisting Steve up like he weighed nothing. That’d be nice, to be nothing. “Oh, hold on,” Sam reached into his pocket for his ringing phone. “Sam Wilson, I can’t really-”

The woman on the other line was screaming, but her voice was familiar.

“How did you even know he’s…you know what, I don’t want to know. Here,” Sam pressed the phone to Steve’s ear.

“Steve?” and she was familiar, but Steve had never heard Natasha sound this distraught before.

“Nat?”

“Nick Fury’s was shot.”

For the second time in as many days, Steve Rogers found himself in the hospital.

* * *

It took nearly three hours before Steve was allowed into Nick Fury’s surgery room. The mousy-haired doctor at the front desk had taken one look at him and demanded that his arm be checked out first, and then Sharon wasn’t allowed to wheel him in because of potentially sensitive information. Steve’s arm, still smarting from the through-and-through, was not much help when it came to wheeling himself around.

“They get the shooter?” Steve asked when Maria Hill finally took pity on him and pushed him inside.

“They have a metallic scrape in the doorway,” Natasha said, staring at the surgery room and whispering something Steve and Maria pretended not to see.

“Trace said it was made an hour before your apartment burned,” Maria Hill added. “It probably saved him; if it weren’t for Agent Romanoff trying to call him after your attack, we wouldn’t have found him so quickly.”

“Isn’t this information above my clearance?” Steve asked.

“You didn’t know?” Natasha was honestly curious when she turned. “Nick Fury made you an Avenger, too.”

Steve’s mind went blank.

“You’re our most valuable agent, the only one who’s survived the Winter Soldier, twice if the reports Agent Carter just submitted to us are true,” Maria added. “Well, unless,” she nodded to the table where Nick lied.

As if on cue, the surgeons flew into a frenzied panic as Nick flatlined.

“Shit,” tears sprung to Maria’s eyes, and she covered her mouth before walking out to cry in private.

“I guess you’re still the only one,” Natasha said dully. She sagged against the window for a second. “Go home, Steve. Rest,” she clapped his shoulder. “We’ve got a soldier to catch,” she said before walking out as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special early chapter for my friend evansscruff! Happy birthday!


	5. You've Got A Big Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve overhears a conversation he shouldn't, speaks with a girl he shouldn't, and helps a man he shouldn't. So basically an average Tuesday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for the beginning of an anxiety attack and impromptu amateur surgery. If these things bother you, please skip to the end once you reach the page break. A brief summary of the chapter will be provided at the bottom.

“Why does he get my room?” Sharon complained while Peggy fluffed pillows.

“Because Jubilee’s room has a poster of a bright pink unicorn holding a machine gun on the wall. Frankly, it’s disturbing and I’ve no idea how anyone can sleep in there,” Peggy said firmly.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Steve said miserably.

“You’re injured,” Peggy hissed.

“Why can’t Sharon sleep on the couch, then?” Jubilee also complained. “Why do we have to share a bed when you said yourself that my posters are terrifying?”

Peggy’s only response was a glare that sent Jubilee scurrying back to her room carrying Sharon’s blankets.

Sharon grumbled, probably something about getting a disturbing pink unicorn poste for her room, but Steve fell asleep before he could decipher it. When he woke up, it was to the sound of soft voices from the kitchen.

“You’re sure it was SHIELD-issue fuel?” Peggy whispered.

Maria shuffled some heavy papers and said, “When Stark was attacked in Malibu, he blew up his suits to save himself,” she took out the photographs. “This is what he left behind.”

Peggy made a low noise of concern.

“Yeah,” Maria shuffled the papers again and zipped something up. “So, after this, he made a new kind of fuel that burns hot and burns out quickly. The fuel itself doesn’t leave any residue, but in all of his trials, the edges of the burned areas looked like this,” more rustling and shuffling. “And here is Steve’s apartment, around his couch.”

“Oh, god,” Peggy’s voice broke. “You’re saying-”

Maria must have put her hand over Peggy’s mouth. They were silent for a few minutes until Peggy stood up.

“How dare you come into my home with such accusations?” she shrieked, and one pair of socked feet thundered down the stairs while a second pair slipped down right after nearly inaudibly.

“Alright,” Maria stood up. “I’ll leave. I’m assuming you don’t want to walk me to my car?”

“I still have manners,” Peggy said coldly. “If you’re going to spy on us from the kitchen, then at least make lunch,” she snapped, presumably to Sharon and her inability to be stealthy.

The women left, and Steve got up with a quiet grunt when he sat up too quickly. The synthetic skin had blended seamlessly into his, but he swore he could still feel the edges where they met.

Peggy’s daughters were trying to follow imperial directions on a box of tortilla mix with their customary measuring devices. Or rather, Sharon was attempting to follow them, and Jubilee was googling for shortcuts.

“You should tell him,” Sharon said cryptically as she shredded a carrot.

“I should not fucking tell Mr. Rogers,” Jubilee scowled, typing on her phone with increasing frustration. “Where the fuck is the salt?”

“You don’t need any, you’re salty enough,” Sharon retorted as she opened a cabinet and took out the can of salt. “Tell Mom, then.”

“She’ll yell at me again.”

“Because you keep talking to strangers, Jubes. That’s how serial killers get you.”

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure Mom only adopted me when you broke the rules and talked to me after school.”

“A decision I’m really starting to wish I hadn’t made,” Sharon retorted.

Jubilee flung the tied-together measuring spoons at Sharon’s head, which she easily ducked before jumping forward and immobilizing Jubilee underneath her in a move that made it clear she was Peggy’s biological daughter.

Steve plucked Jubilee’s phone out of the air before it could shatter on the ground. “That’s a very nice picture,” he said, looking at the background of Jubilee in a floral dress hugging a girl with dark, cropped hair.

Jubilee made a choked noise that became a scream when Sharon jumped off of her and knocked the salt off the counter. Steve tried to keep his laughing to a minimum as he grabbed the dustpan.

“You had something to tell me?” Steve asked Jubilee quietly.

Jubilee bit her lip, but she went to her room and retrieved a blood-stained USB drive. “I wrote an essay on prosethekits,” she emphasized the last word.

Steve wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or terrified. On one hand, the Winter Soldier knew who Peggy and her daughters were. On the other hand, neither of them appeared hurt, and the Soldier had gone through considerable to give Steve information.

He deliberately set the fire when I wasn’t there, Steve realized, and he made sure no one else would get hurt.

But that didn’t explain Nick Fury’s death.

“Girls, are you mistreating poor Mr. Rogers again?” Peggy’s tone was deliberately light.

“No,” Jubilee denied vehemently.

“They’re lovely, Peggy,” Steve agreed.

“Clearly not, if they’re making you clean up after them,” Peggy took the dustpan out of Steve’s hand and dumped its contents in the trash.

The relaxed atmosphere persisted until Peggy’s phone rang halfway through lunch.

“You have to go to work, huh?” Sharon asked miserably.

“To borrow a phrase, shit is going down,” Peggy said before stuffing the rest of her burrito in her mouth. She opened the refrigerator and took out the last apple and a can of tomato soup. “Shit,” she rubbed her temples, “I forgot to buy groceries again.”

“I’ll do it,” Steve volunteered. If this house was bugged, then the electronics were definitely monitored, too. He needed to go somewhere else to see what was in it.

“Could you buy some pink nail polish, too?” Jubilee asked around a mouthful of salsa and sour cream. “Ooh, and kale chips?”

“Jubilee!” Peggy hissed. “Steve is a guest! And chew your food!” and then she was gone.

“And it’s almost my birthday,” Jubilee muttered to no one in particularly.

“Should you be moving with your stomach,” Sharon gestured vaguely at him, “condition?”

“Dr. Cho gave me some painkillers,” which Steve had stopped taking, because he couldn’t shake the feeling that Nick Fury would still be alive if he had just fought a little harder on the Lemurian Star. But both Sharon and Jubilee were looking at him worriedly now, leaving him no choice but to take the blister packets and a bottle of water.

* * *

Drying sweat prickled on Steve’s palms before he even stepped out of the vegetable aisle. This was ridiculous—in his last forty-eight waking hours, he’d stepped in front of a gun and a world-class assassin without a second of hesitation, but facing a fucking checkout counter was too terrifying? Steve stopped his cart next to a brightly-colored display of kale chips. How were there so many kinds of kale chips? Don’t think about making small talk at the counter. Pretend to be deciding which flavor to buy. He was gripping the cart handle too hard; it was starting to bend. How many different ways could someone cut up pieces of kale and fry them? Were kale chips even fried? Surely that would take away any nutritional value they had. Maybe he should just buy roasted seaweed. That was a health food, too, right?

“Mr. Rogers, are you okay?”

Steve whipped around to see the girl with the short hair from Jubilee’s phone wallpaper.

“Laura Kinney,” the girl pointed to herself. “Are you having a panic attack?”

“It’s getting better,” Steve replied honestly. “Keep talking, if you don’t mind.”

“You’re the homeless guy living at Jubilee’s apartment, right?”

Steve couldn’t help but snort. No wonder Jubilee liked her. “I…yes.”

“Great. So, her birthday’s coming up. Did you hear her talking about what she wants? For a present, I mean?”

“She likes pink, and glitter,” he took out the sparkling hot magenta nail polish and placed it on top of Peggy’s favorite apples. “Get her something shiny.”

“Like a fake diamond ring?” Laura asked bluntly.

Steve almost choked, but this time with laughter. “She would love that.”

“Especially if I propose to her where Ms. Carter can see, right?” Laura grinned. “Thanks, um…”

“Steve Rogers.”

“Oh, yeah, Jubilee calls you ‘Steeb,’” Laura’s grin disappeared suddenly. “Who are you?” she demanded from someone behind Steve.

The hand that caught Steve’s punch was too hard to be flesh, even though the man was looking down. The Winter Soldier pushed Steve’s hand back against his side—not a difficult feat considering that all energy drained out of Steve’s fist the second he saw the Soldier flinch.

“Laura,” Steve passed the girl his wallet without turning, “there’s $130 in here for my groceries.”

A calloused hand took it and wheeled the cart away.

“You killed Nick Fury,” Steve said once he could no longer hear the cart.

The Soldier frowned. “You haven’t opened the drive?”

Steve could feel said drive burning a hole in his pocket. “The apartment isn’t safe. I was going to use a computer at the Apple store to open it. And you still killed the SHIELD Director.”

The Soldier hesitated for a second before saying, “He’s not dead.”

Steve balled his hands into fists. “I saw him flatline.”

“He shot himself with tetrodotoxin, and my shot wouldn’t be fatal unless he bled out, but I timed it so it wouldn’t happen,” the Soldier insisted. “He handed me the thumb drive and told me to give it to you. I tried to decrypt it, but twenty minutes after I plugged it in, agents broke into my cell and I had to leave,” As he spoke, his flesh hand moved toward his right side, and Steve noticed the dark spot glistening sickeningly for the first time.

“Shit,” Steve hissed, reaching forward. A hand clamped punishingly tightly around his forearm, and Steve forced himself to be still. The Soldier’s grip grew tighter and tighter, until sweat beaded on Steve’s forehead and he could feel the bones grinding together, but there was a challenge in the Soldier’s eyes and he was determined to meet it.

The Soldier’s eyes were somehow even angrier when he let go of Steve’s arm. “You should’ve killed me when you had that chance.”

Steve snorted. “I never had the chance,” he said. “You caught me by surprise, and you’re a very good fighter.” The memory sent a hot pulse to…oh, okay. Sweat started beading on Steve’s forehead again for a completely different reason.

“No, you’re just self-destructive,” the Soldier glared. “I threw the picture at you and-” he paled alarmingly.

“Hey,” Steve reached forward and let the Soldier lean against him. “Come on, you need medical attention.”

“I need to go,” the Soldier said through gritted teeth.

“Please,” Steve said desperately. “You set the fire before I was out of the hospital, and you set so someone would call and know Nick Fury was hurt before he could bleed to death. You went back into the fire and got my mother’s portrait. I know you got this getting the USB. Please let me help you.”

The Soldier snorted. “I know where your girlfriend and her daughters live,” he might have sounded terrifying if it weren’t for his breathlessness. Not that Steve was one to talk. He was breathing heavily from the pain in his stomach, too, now that he was stretching his new skin.

“And you didn’t hurt them,” Steve reminded.

“You have very low standards,” the Soldier said, letting Steve walk him through the back door and lower him onto the ground.

“I don’t think so,” Steve took out his painkillers and a bottle of water. “Take three, and if it still hurts, take a fourth, but don’t take more than that.”

“Stop,” the Soldier’s voice was rough. “You don’t…those are yours.”

“I’m giving them to you,” Steve held them out.

The Soldier looked pointedly at a warm spot Steve was trying to pretend wasn’t from his new skin being rubbed raw against the Soldier’s stiff tactical vest, even through Steve’s cotton shirt.

“I don’t deserve them,” Steve said, but if Nick Fury wasn’t dead, then that really wasn’t true anymore.

“Your heart’s too big,” the Soldier said quietly, holding up a hand to reject the painkillers. Frustrated, Steve compromised by holding two pills out for him and visibly taking one of the other two in his own hand. Reluctantly, the Soldier took the remaining two pills and water bottle from Steve.

“Aren’t you-” he nodded to the last pill.

“I’m saving it for an emergency,” Steve said, putting the blister packet back in his bag. The Soldier shrugged obligingly and took the stitching kit out of…somewhere, and pressed it into Steve’s hand.

The wound was deeper in the back than in the front, like the Soldier had jumped out of the way of a bullet. When the Soldier turned away in shame, Steve realized that was exactly what had happened.

“They weren’t good people if they were willing to, you know,” he tried to be gentle as he washed the grit from around the stitches.

The Soldier groaned when he sat up, and Steve let out an echoing groan when he strained the area between new and old skin helping the Soldier get on his feet. Clearly, the painkillers were affecting him more than Steve, because by the time Steve shifted the Soldier to his other side and traded hurting his stomach for hurting his arm, the Soldier was unconscious.

“Mr. Rogers?” Laura looked nervous, holding out his wallet with the groceries cart in front of her.

“I’ll show you where my car is,” Steve said, getting a terrible idea as he walked toward the cart. “Clear a space, I’m going to put him in the cart,” he nodded to the Soldier’s body. “Then I’m going to need you to look the other way while I hotwire a car.”

Laura snickered. “Who knew Captain America knows how to steal a car?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve is distracted from his anxiety when Laura Kinney appears and asks what Jubilee wants for her birthday. The Winter Soldier also appears and gives Steve more information about Nick Fury's "death." Steve notices that his side is bleeding and sneaks the Soldier to the back to stitch upnthe wound. In the process, he nearly rips off his own new skin. When the Soldier falls unconscious, Steve decides to steal a car and drive him somewhere safer.


	6. The Way You See the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve meets the rest of The Avengers, breaks into SHIELD, and gets into a fight in an elevator

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entire second half of this chapter is violent, so if fighting isn't your cup of tea, stop reading when Steve troes to press he elevator button.

Steve left Laura to drop the groceries off at Peggy’s apartment while he drove the Soldier in circles, hoping to come across another Apple store or internet café when his phone rang.

“Natasha,” he greeted without checking the number.

“We need you,” said Natasha.

“I’m busy,” Steve said, checking the rearview mirror to make sure the Soldier was still asleep there.

“We have a lead on the Winter Soldier.”

“So do I.”

Natasha’s shock was evident in the way she was quiet for an entire second. “Mine is a car leaving the store you like, the one with Peggy’s, um, apples. What’s yours?”

“Mine is in the backseat of the car leaving the store I go to. I hope ‘apples’ isn’t a euphemism for something.”

“Steve,” Natasha’s voice grew low and urgent. “Are you…are you making a cuckoo clock with the Winter Soldier?” Is the Winter Soldier holding you hostage?

“No,” Steve swallowed. “I need a secure line. Secure from SHIELD, from Pierce, from anything.”

“Shit,” there was a sound like something heavy hitting a keyboard—probably Natasha’s head. “Okay, I got it. But the signal might not be very good.”

“That’s fine,” said Steve, staring at the thumb drive in his hand. “What do you know about tetrodotoxin?”

“It comes from a type of blowfish,” Natasha answered immediately. “It slows the heart down to five beats a minute, why?”

Steve let out a relieved huff. “Nick took it after he was shot, and then he gave the Soldier a thumb drive to give to me. The Soldier burned my apartment with Avengers-made fuel when he did because he knew someone would contact Fury in time to save his life.”

“What are you saying? Nick is still alive?”

“Yes,” Steve thought about Maria’s conversation with Peggy that morning. “I think Maria Hill knows he is, and by now Peggy probably does, too.”

Natasha muttered some unflattering profanities about Nick Fury’s trust issues, which Steve thought were more than a little hypocritical.

“Nat,” Steve reminded.

Natasha bashed her head against her keyboard again. “Where are you?”

“You’re not tracking my phone?”

“Pull over and stay there,” Natasha said shortly. “I’ll be there in thirty.”

“Thank you,” Steve said, relieved, just before a fist struck the side of his face.

Stars exploded across Steve’s vision, and he was barely able to raise his hand to ward off the next blow. The fist clenched around his arm instead, and his bones ground together worryingly before Steve wiggled out of the metallic grip and put the Soldier in a chokehold.

Something was wrong. Concussed and fighting nausea, it shouldn’t have been so easy to get the drop on a legendary assassin, even if the Soldier was deliberately trying not to hurt Steve. His struggling to get out of Steve’s grip lacked their usual grace, even if they were far more forceful and desperate.

“Soldier, stand down!” he said authoritatively as he imagined Pierce might.

This only served to make the Soldier more agitated, and he struggled even harder. “I’m not your fucking soldier!” the man who was not the Winter Soldier spat. “My name is Bucky!”

“Okay, Bucky,” Steve said, but the man who was not the Winter Soldier landed a lucky elbow into Steve’s stomach and he doubled over, dry-heaving on the floor of the car. Then something collided with the back of his head, and whatever it was clunked next to his head. Two feet in combat boots ran away, slipping over the grass on its way like their owner couldn’t quite get their balance.

Steve tried to curl his hands over his mouth to call out, but his arms got as far as landing on the object the man who was not the Soldier had thrown at his head before giving up. Said object felt so worryingly like a steering wheel that Steve had to put enormous effort into turning his head. Yep, the entire steering column had broken off.

“I wanted to return this car, you asshole,” he might have said.

An indeterminable amount of time passed while Steve nodded off, until Natasha’s cool fingers probed around the back of his head. Steve was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to be feeling air in the places he was feeling air. He was also pretty sure that closing his eyes wasn’t going to help, but it felt like the thing to do.

“Don’t fucking close your eyes,” Natasha sounded more wrecked than Steve had ever heard her, and that more than anything convinced him to open his eyes. He immediately closed them again, because the sky was not supposed to be that bright.

“Sorry,” said a quiet man, and the sky dimmed to a more tolerable level. “Um, my name is Bruce Banner.”

Steve opened his eyes a crack when he recognized the name. Dr. Banner had been inspired by Steve’s crash to create irradiated green armor that poisoned his friend, Tony Stark, when he tried to use it. The scandal had cost Dr. Banner his medical license and driven the man into hiding. Even now, Dr. Banner flushed with shame and began to back out of the room.

“Steve Rogers,” he said, sticking his hand out in what he hoped was the right direction. “Thanks for your help. I’m guessing I wouldn’t have gotten out of the car without you.” His voice cracked, and he turned away to spit. If something had died in his mouth, it might have tasted better.

“Hey, watch your aim!”

Steve opened his eyes again, slower this time, and saw that the sky was actually the worklights of Tony Stark’s laboratory. At least, it was probably Stark’s, because the man himself was standing not five feet away, the drive plugged into a computer.

“It’s being tracked,” Steve gestured to the drive. “Is this safe?”

“Um, duh,” Tony snorted. “You know who you’re talking to, right?” he gestured to himself with his mouse.

“I thought everyone used touchpads now,” Steve retorted.

Tony smiled widely. “You didn’t tell me he was sassy,” he turned to Natasha with a hurt expression.

“Focus on the decryption,” Natasha said, ignoring Tony’s comments about her lack of humor.

The last few hours trickled back into Steve’s brain, and he looked around for the Winter Soldier without much hope. Natasha and Tony Stark were too relaxed for there to be a potentially-reformed assassin in the room. “Was there anyone with me when you found me?” he asked, knowing he was hopeless transparent as soon as he saw Natasha’s stern face.

“We didn’t expect to find you at all,” Dr. Banner began.

Natasha interrupted him. If she still felt any sympathy for Steve’s injury, it wasn’t visible from her face. “So, you and the Winter Soldier are carpool buddies?”

Tony twitched, but Steve assumed it the movement was related to something he saw on the screen and put it out of his mind. “That’s not exactly the word I would use.”

“It’s nice to have you back, Steve,” Natasha patted his shoulder and swallowed over and over again.

“I didn’t know you were bringing Dr. Banner and Tony Stark into my mess,” Steve said quickly.

“Well, we have to look out for each other. We’re a team,” Tony held up his arm for a high-five, pouting when he was ignored. Reluctantly, Dr. Banner took off one latex glove and indulged him.

“I couldn’t decrypt the drive,” Natasha whispered. “And Tony is slightly smarter than me. With computers,” she added hastily.

“I understand,” Steve whispered back.

A litany of cursing turned their attention back to Tony and his computer, which was displaying schematics that made Natasha stiffen next to him.

“What is it?” Steve asked. “It looks like a more complicated aircraft carrier.”

“That’s because it is,” Tony said, pointing to several components on the second floor, each branded with SI, “complicated with bastardized defense systems I created. And what the hell is that?” he pointed to a diagram on the top floor.

“It’s a camouflage device Alexander Pierce submitted for Nick Fury’s personal helicopter,” Natasha informed. “He had the designs spread out on his desk when he…might have died.”

“And don’t think this gets you out of telling us where he is, by the way,” Tony said. “The man’s name is on all my SHIELD contracts. I’d rather not lose out on a $3 billion contract.”

“Maria and Peggy-”

“Agent Hill has been declared a fugitive from SHIELD,” Natasha said. “She’s completely off the grid. And Agent Carter has bought you a hotel room for the rest of the week.”

Steve groaned. “Look, I had two options, okay? I could either let Laura Kinney give her the groceries or I could drive the Winter Soldier straight to a house with…well, I guess neither of the girls are helpless. Jubilee would turn the house into Home Alone if Sharon didn’t kick him to death first.” He stopped speaking when he saw Natasha’s expression. “What? Is it really that surprising that I know what the Home Alone movies are?”

“No, who’s Laura Kinney?” Natasha asked.

“One of Jubilee’s friends,” Steve answered. “I gave her the keys to my house. I think she’s a nice girl, but I guess I don’t know her as well as-”

“Steve,” Natasha interrupted, “Peggy’s angry that your car exploded on the causeway. She thought you stole another person’s car without asking her for help.”

All the blood drained out of Steve’s face. “Is Laura…” he trailed off.

Natasha shook her head. “We don’t know. All we found in the driver’s seat was blood, lots of it, and it matched you.”

It took Steve a second to find his voice. “Someone in Medical switched out her blood for mine?”

“Maybe not,” Dr. Banner said contemplatively. “SHIELD required weekly blood tests for a year and a half after you came back from Afghanistan.” The temperature in the room plunged off a cliff. “Has anyone spoken to Helen Cho recently?”

* * *

“The first rule of going on the run is, ‘walk, don’t run,’” Natasha said as she handed Steve a pile of what could be dubiously called ‘clothing.’ The article at the top made Dr. Banner chuckle.

“If I run, I don’t have to wear this hat,” Steve grumbled, but he put on the MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN hat. He frowned when couldn’t zip up his jacket all the way. “Isn’t this too small?”

“Nope, not at all,” Tony said, tossing popcorn in his mouth. He was definitely enjoying this way too much.

Entering the Triskelion, was honestly a relief compared to that mocking scrutiny, until the scent of Axe had Steve looking for a slicked-back head. When he found it, to his horror, it was headed straight for them.

“Rumlow’s coming,” he whispered to Natasha. “If he makes us, I’ll engage, you take the north escalator up to Finance.”

“Shut up and put your arm around my neck,” Natasha whispered back.

“What?”

“Just do it, laugh at something I said,” she demanded.

Steve obeyed, laughing in a way he hoped wasn’t too obviously fake. Rumlow passed right by them. Holy shit, Natasha was a genius.

“Thank you,” Natasha preened, and Steve blushed. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

The jovial atmosphere dissipated when they approached Dr. Cho’s office. Natasha had to be the one who actually pulled the door open. Dr. Cho looked up from her paperwork and her jaw dropped.

“Y-you’re alive,” she said shakily.

“All the blood you drew for SHIELD’s tests,” Steve said without preamble, “did you keep it?”

“Until yesterday,” Dr. Cho said uncertainly. “Alexander Pierce demanded that we clear out some of the freezer space. He even offered to help us move them himself.” Her eyes widened as she put two and two together. “Are you saying that he…he took it to fake your death?”

“It’s starting to become a theme, around here” Natasha sighed. “Thank you, Helen. I appreciate your cooperation and-”

But Dr. Cho was staring to pull her personal affects from the drawers at her desk, clearly no longer listening.

“You don’t have to come with us,” Steve tried to reassure. “We don’t have anything solid yet.”

“Is this office bugged?” Natasha cut in.

Dr. Cho nodded.

Natasha cursed before grabbing Dr. Cho’s hand. “We have to split up,” she said quickly. “I know ways out of this building that no one else does. Steve, you try to lure whoever comes after us. I promise, I’ll come get you.”

Steve nodded. “I know,” he said, and he took his hand and jacket off before simply walking out. He’d been television every day for a year, someone would recognize him and call the appropriate one of Pierce’s underlings.

It wasn’t until he walked into the glass elevator that anyone came after him. Rumlow was first, and Steve tried to mask his heartbreak. The task grew more and more difficult as the elevator stopped in front of his old STRIKE team members. He took a deep breath and tried to remember how Natasha would respond.

 _Pierce is trying to psych you out,_ she would say. _He’s banking on you wanting to go easy on your old teammates._

But the willowy brunet who slipped in between Pierre and Gutierrez didn’t fit the bill. Steve could’ve snapped him in half with his index finger if he would just stop shifting back and forth with his hands in a death grip around his…oh.

“Holy shit, you’re Captain America!” the wispy man squealed so excitedly that for a second Steve was afraid he was going to let go. “Um, Cameron Klein,” he stuck out one hand, the other still fluttering around his junk. “I work in Surveillance.”

Steve shook as gingerly as he could without being rude. “Here,” he said, reaching forward to press the button for the next floor. Rumlow finally played his hand, holding out the stun baton and waved Steve’s hand away.

“’Fraid you can’t do that, Captain America,” Rumlow said mockingly.

O’Malley pressed the emergency button and the elevator stopped halfway down the forty-first floor. As if on cue, everyone started to pile onto Steve, who managed to grab Pierre’s gun and disable Gutierrez and Pierre himself, but that left him wide open for Rollins, O’Malley, and Johnston to grab him and place two cuffs around his wrists. They must have been magnetized; Johnston was able to get Steve stuck to the metal strip above the elevator buttons with ease. In a move borne of desperation, Steve used the position to kick Johnston in the chest with one foot, cracking at least three ribs into lung tissue, and Rollins in the face with the other. The former flailed as he tried to get air into his lungs, knocking O’Malley down in the process, through the glass wall and all the way down. That was three down, but the bones in his left wrist, already weakened in Bucky’s flashback yesterday, had given way completely.

The room filled with the scent of ammonia, and Steve looked up to see Cameron rather admirably evading Rumlow’s repeated stabbing attempts. Steve let Rollins get his arms around Steve’s legs before he started to struggle, ensuring that Rollins would start pulling at his legs and help Steve slip two bloody wrists out of his magnetic cuffs. He immediately took a fist to the face, and fighting Rollins was hard enough with a dislocated thumb and broken wrist. Rollins’ wide hands wrapped themselves around Steve’s broken joints and squeezed while Rumlow jabbed his stun baton into Steve’s chest and thumbed it on.

Steve didn’t even have time to curse Natasha for giving him such light clothing before pain whited everything out. This was it, he was going to die slowly and painfully, and he had doomed Cameron to die in a puddle of his own piss.

No, he was done failing people, and he was tired of being the one sent away. So he didn’t fight it when his legs gave way, forcing Rollins to bend down and take all of Steve’s weight into his own hands. When Rollins’ head was close enough, Steve slammed his forehead onto Rollins’ already-broken nose. Rollins let go with a howl and backed away. Rumlow took his place with the stun baton held high, threat clear. Steve turned so that the baton landed on the pocket of his jeans instead of in his still-tender stomach. It still hurt, but the layers of denim afforded him enough clarity of mind for him to notice that Rumlow was close enough for Steve to thrust his fingers into Rumlow’s gleeful eyes. Rumlow jumped back with a shout, but he didn’t let go of the baton like Steve had hoped. Once he blinked the blood out of his eyes, he settled for repeatedly striking Steve’s still-trembling body with it.

Something shattered the glass wall in front of Steve, followed by two high-pitched whistles, and by the time Steve blinked the blood out of his eyes enough to see, Rollins and Rumlow had holes through their heads. Heart pounding, Steve looked up, but the only person he could see was a purple-clad figure on the other side of a grappling hook connected to the elevator, also looking around.


	7. Some Bruises And A Few Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SHIELD's secrets come to light. Nobody is happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a brief description of a teenage girl being placed in isolation and starved. Personally, I believe this is torture, and I understand it might make some people uncomfortable. Please stop reading after the line break and resume reading at "Steve was about to thank him..."

“You should get inside, Cap,” yelled Clint Barton. “I’m not sure how long Nat can hold the chopper in this position.”

Natasha growled something that was almost definitely a swear and an insult.

“Hold on to me,” Steve told Cameron, who nodded and wrapped his arms just above Steve’s stomach tightly enough to cut off circulation. He was a little grateful not to be feeling whatever wound was causing all the internal bleeding.

Then Steve wrapped his working fingers around the handle and nearly bit through his tongue to keep from screaming. He must have been bleeding heavily; his clothes slapped with an unpleasant wetness. _Keep it together for just one more minute,_ he thought to himself. _You can do this._

“Sorry, Cap,” Clint winced when he saw Steve’s crooked fingers. “If I’d known, I… probably would’ve given you a zipline anyway. I didn’t really come up here with a lot of options.”

“It’s fine,” Steve panted. The black spots dancing across his vision grew larger as his adrenaline ebbed. “It’s just some bruises.”

“Are you okay?” Clint turned his attention to Cameron, who took such a long time to nod that Clint looked up at Steve worriedly anyway.

“I don’t know if he got hit,” Steve said, cursing himself for not paying attention. He should’ve been able to catch his breath by now—something was wrong.

“My pants suffered the worst,” Cameron offered Clint a shaky smile. “Oh, no,” he gestured to Steve’s trousers, wincing.

Well, that explained the wet slapping.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Steve’s words were muffled by something pressing on the side of his face. He tried to blink, but when he next opened his eyes, it was because Helen Cho was screaming at him.

“EVERY SINGLE TIME! EVERY SINGLE TIME I SEE YOU YOU’VE DONE SOMETHING _COMPLETELY_ KNUCKLEHEADED!” Dr. Cho gripped the stethoscope so tightly it was a wonder that she didn’t flatten the head.

Steve jerked up and made a soft sound of pain he was glad no one could hear over Dr. Cho’s tirade.

“Give him some fucking ice chips!” Dr. Cho shouted at Dr. Banner, who immediately moved to obey in the face of the doctor’s fury.

Speaking of Fury, he stood at the doorway at a triple point between amused, terrified, and horny. The white tips of a back brace poked out from under his shirt.

“You look good for a ghost,” Steve tried to say. It came out more muttered than he would’ve liked.

“Tetrodotoxin,” Fury said.

“I know,” Steve let Dr. Cho move his head back and forth to check range of movement in his neck.

“Your little snowflake told you?”

The visual was so hilarious that Steve actually burst into laughter.

Clearly, Fury didn’t find it as funny. “What else did he tell you?”

Amusement drained, Steve wondered what to say. “Nothing I haven’t already told Natasha,” he settled. “What were the aircraft carrier plans that got them all spooked?”

Fury shook his head. “Get well soon, Captain,” he said as he left.

“Is Cameron okay?” Steve called after him, but when he didn’t receive any answer and let his head hit the back of what was probably a requisitioned dentist chair.

“Stop,” Dr. Cho growled. “I just lost my job today because of you.”

“If SHIELD’s hiding something, do you really want to be working there?” Steve asked rhetorically.

“You didn’t really give me much of a choice,” Dr. Cho pointed out. “After you barged in, it was either quit or die.”

“Is that really a place you want to work?”

“No,” Dr. Cho sighed and took her gloves off. “Klein is fine. He just needed a change of clothes and half a Valium. You kept him safe.”

Steve looked down so Dr. Cho couldn’t know for sure that his eyes were wet.

“Actually, he asked for you,” she continued. “He said it was about a girl named, uh, Laurel Kenny?”

Steve’s stomach did a flip. “She’s friends with one of Peg—er, one of Agent Carter’s daughters. She was driving my car when it exploded.”

Dr. Cho’s eyes widened. “I’ll get my surgery tools and synthetic skin ready,” she promised. “Go find her.”

* * *

 

“That’s her,” Steve pointed to one of the security camera feeds, sitting between Cameron and Natasha on Cameron’s funky-smelling couch. “She’s been in this room the whole time?”

 _Room_ was a bit generous of a term; _cell_ would’ve been more appropriate. It was at best six feet on any side and almost completely bare. The only furniture was a metal bench that stuck out from a wall adjacent to the unused door. Laura lied on top of it, her hoodie folded underneath her head in a makeshift pillow.

“Who put her in here?” Steve found himself looking down at a cowering Cameron. At some point, he must have stood up and started glaring at the technician he could snap in half like he wanted to do just that. He shut his jaw with a click.

“The door to that entire hallway hasn’t been disturbed for three days,” Cameron said uneasily.

“All agents need an approved cardswipe to get in,” Natasha explained. “No one’s interrogated her—or fed her.”

“Three days,” Steve felt the blood rush out of his face and had to sit down.

“None of this is your fault, Steve,” Natasha reminded.

“And where is she?” Steve continued like he hadn’t heard. “I’ve never seen this room before.”

Cameron shifted uncomfortably, like he was trying to evade the scrutiny of millions even though Steve and Natasha were the only other people in his house. “Sub-basement level five.”

“I thought the sub-basement only had two levels,” Steve pressed his fist into his thigh to keep from punching Cameron’s laptop. The live feed was had taken close to an hour to hack into, even with Cameron’s credentials.

“You didn’t have clearance for the other three,” Cameron answered before groaning. “I’m gonna lose my job.”

“You don’t have to help me, Agent Klein, ” Steve said immediately. “I can do this on my own.”

“No,” Cameron shook his head. “Someone needs to help that girl,” he said heavily, staring at the burned girl on his laptop. “Captain’s orders.”

Steve was about to thank him when Cameron’s screen flashed with an approval request.

Fucking Alexander Pierce had swiped his card to enter the hallway.

“Do I reject it?” Cameron asked nervously.

“Yes!” Steve said immediately.

“No,” Natasha cut in. “We can’t risk tipping Pierce off.”

“We can’t just sit here and do nothing!” Steve said incredulously.

“Who said anything about doing nothing?” Natasha picked up the phone. “You said it was Jubilee who had Laura’s picture in her phone?”

Steve was about to reply when he realized the fact that Natasha already had Jubilee’s number meant she probably also already had her answer. He simply watched her go into Cameron’s bathroom instead.

“It says here the agent who swiped to bring her in was Jack Rollins,” Cameron said suddenly. “I guess I should put him on the list of agents SHIELD won’t hire back.”

“What?” Steve turned his undivided attention to Cameron.

“Director Fury’s putting together a list of people to recruit back once we…you didn’t know?” Cameron looked a little smug and a lot surprised.

“That you were rebuilding SHIELD? No,” Steve paced, trying to even his breathing and keep his temper in check while he walked to the bathroom door and knocked for Natasha’s attention.

“I still don’t want to talk to him,” he could hear Peggy’s voice coming from Natasha’s phone.

“Then let me do the talking,” Natasha said while her footsteps got closer to the door. But Steve had heard enough and took Natasha’s car to drive himself to Fury’s bunker and rip the entirety of SHIELD up with his bare hands.

Not one agent tried to stop him. Even Dr. Cho scrambled to get out of his way when she saw whatever thunderous expression on his face. Still, it took him the better part of an hour before he stumbled upon Fury by sheer luck.

“For the last time, Stark, there is no targeting algorithm.”

“Oh, really? Because I’m pretty sure I just isolated a targeting algorithm and put it into my computers to decipher,” Tony pointed to a sickeningly familiar chunk of code on his laptop screen. Steve had spent enough time around missile defense systems to get the gist of it.

“The world is safer than it’s ever been,” Steve said, trying not to remember the look on Jim Morita’s face when he discovered the bomb. “We don’t need a death machine in the sky to kill people who can’t ever see it coming.”

“Do you feel safer than you did yesterday?” Fury scoffed. “I know I don’t.”

“No, I don’t feel safer, because I just found out I gave six of my closest friends to keep this country safe, and in the meantime my government’s been trying to figure out the best way to kill its own citizens!” Steve shouted. “The range on this,” he gestured to the relevant line of code, “and the longitude and latitude?” he pointed to another line. “You’re targeting the same people trusting you to keep them safe.”

This time, Fury actually kept quiet. “I didn’t know about that,” he admitted.

“But you were perfectly fine with indiscriminately killing everyone else,” Steve didn’t relent. “When a fucking fascist death cult can work right alongside real SHIELD agents, it means that real SHIELD is acting like fascist death cult.”

“Hey now,” Tony interrupted, but Steve held up a hand and the inventor fell silent.

“SHIELD, HYDRA, it all goes.”

“No,” Tony scoffed. “I have poured my life into making sure that SHIELD keeps people safe in the best way possible, and I don’t appreciate being compared to a Nazi cult member. Besides, we need to be put in check. If the Avengers can’t accept limitations, we’re no better than the bad guys.”

“We aren’t better than the bad guys. We can’t even tell ourselves apart,” Steve growled. Tony opened his mouth to say something else, but Steve found his tolerance had reached its breaking point and stormed out of the room. He needed an ally, someone who knew the value of following their own orders because they had spent such a long time following everyone else’s.

He found himself standing in front of Sam Wilson’s door twenty minutes later.


	8. You're Gonna Be Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is how an empire falls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you got an alert for Chapter 8 earlier and are very confused. I somehow uploaded an earlier draft which was missing a scene.
> 
> Trigger warnings for suicide ideation and an actual suicide attempt in this chapter. Also, one of the bad guys dies in a very, very bloody way. If these upset you, please stop reading at "Pierce's gun was too close to avoid." There'll be a summary at the end of the section in question.

“You moving out was supposed to stop this shit,” Sam grumbled as he cracked two eggs into sizzling oil. He started to close the carton, but he took another glance at Steve and cracked three more eggs.

“I’m sorry about this, Sam. And about the time,” Steve winced.

“It’s fine,” Sam gave a grim smile. “You know how my bed is.”

“Like sleeping on a marshmallow,” Steve tried to smile back tentatively. “Feels like I’m gonna sink right to the floor.”

Sam’s smile softened into something real. “You ever miss the good ol’ days?” he asked quietly, flipping eggs.

Steve scoffed. “Hell no. The food is so much better,” he saw the jug of orange juice on the table and went to the cabinet to fetch two glasses.

“Not even your Commandos?”

Steve swallowed. “Four of them are dead and the last two made it pretty clear I’m dead to them,” he sat at the table and focused on pouring the juice more than he necessarily had to.

Sam furrowed his brow. “Are you talking about the STRIKE team I don’t know anything about?”

Steve realized his mistake. “Three of them,” he corrected meekly.

“It’s okay,” Sam said gently. “My wingman, Riley? I used to have nightmares about that RPG that knocked his fool ass out of the sky. Only it’s my sister, or it’s my dad. Hurt doesn’t just go away because it doesn’t make sense.” He took a deep breath before draining his glass and playfully tapping the back of Steve’s head with it. “So what do you need me to do?”

Steve shifted uncomfortably. What he clearly needed was for someone else to lead the charge against HYDRA. He’d already led two teams to destruction, no need to add a third, to add Sam. Steve drank the rest of his juice as quickly as he could and stood up. “I shouldn’t ask you to do this, I’m sorry,” he said as quickly as he could. “You got out for a good reason.”

“Hang tight,” Sam said as he walked into his room. “I’ll be right back.” When he was, he was wearing a white leotard covered in red glitter with a collar that went down to his waist.

“Is that your Halloween costume?” Steve felt his mouth twitch.

“It’s my resume,” Sam scowled, and he reached behind him to open up a mechanized pair of wings.

Steve chuckled, hiding his wince when it made his ribs twinge. “I thought you were a pilot.”

“Oh, I said I flew in the army. I never said ‘pilot.’”

Steve’s smile fell as he considered the enormity of what he was about to ask. “If you’re sure about this,” he began, “you should know that SHIELD’s been taken over by HYDRA. They almost have what they want: a global and domestic drone system.”

“I get it, Steve,” Sam interrupted. “You don’t need to give me a whole speech off the top of your head. You’re asking for my help. There’s no better reason to get back in.”

Steve tried to blink back tears. “And you say I give speeches.”

Sam raised an elegant eyebrow. “Get on with it.”

“Nick Fury and a few agents he trusts are teaming up with the Avengers to destroy HYDRA. But he thinks that SHIELD can still be saved.”

“And you think different,” Sam concluded.

Steve sighed. “If I see a situation pointed south, I can’t ignore it.”

“No,” Sam smiled cryptically, “you won’t ignore it. And that’s why you need me, you want to be sure that someone’s gonna have your back. You think a soldier with no ties to SHIELD will do that.”

Steve sighed again, but he nodded, unable to deny the truth of Sam’s words.

“Well, you’ve got it right,” Sam said, clapping Steve in the shoulder. “But you’ve got to choose your battles carefully, because when I back your play, the people shooting at you are gonna wind up shooting at me, too.”

* * *

 

“Are you okay,” Alexander Pierce sat in front of Peggy Carter in the mess hall.

“I’m fine, Mr. Secretary,” Peggy was sincere, if a bit thick-headed.

“I understand that Agent Rogers was your friend and neighbor,” Pierce spoke sympathetically, testing the waters.

“Our relationship went much further back. I honestly can’t imagine the rest of my life without him,” Peggy hunched into herself. “He always knew exactly how to cheer my girls up, and they needed him this week more than ever.”

“Oh?” Pierce leaned closer.

“My older daughter has a…friend,” Peggy pursed her lips.

“I take it you don’t trust her ‘friend,’” Pierce continued.

Peggy sighed. “They spent fourteen years living in each other’s pockets in a group home, which is the problem.”

“You want Jubilee to let go of negative influences and embrace her new life,” Pierce nodded sympathetically, invitingly.

“It’s not even that,” Peggy looked pained. “Laura’s disappointed her again and again. Just this last Friday, she broke my girl’s heart skipping a mall date. I wish I had a more solid reason for asking her to stay away. Jubilee just won’t listen to me,” she made eye contact with Cameron’s security camera and rolled her eyes.

“Did you say this girl’s name is Laura?” Pierce paused.

“Yes,” Peggy fretted. “Honestly, the things that girl’s gotten up to. I’m fairly certain Jubilee’s recent interest in fireworks is entirely her fault, and I shudder to think what it might become.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry much longer,” Pierce’s grin was simultaneously cloying and predatory. “If you can promise to keep the method between us, I can assure you that Laura Kinney will never darken your doorstep again.”

“I’m listening,” Peggy’s smile was all teeth. Her hand moved toward her purse, and she tapped the top of the zipper one, two, three, four times.

“That’s your cue, Hawkeye,” Fury told Clint, who stood up and started toward the trash can next to Peggy’s table, only to trip over nothing and dump the remains of a half-drunk soda all over the spy.

“Shit!” Peggy held her soaked possessions over the trashcan to shake off the excess Coke.

“Oh my god, Agent Carter, I am so sorry,” Clint took the soiled napkins off his tray and made to clean Peggy’s blouse with them.

“No, don’t,” Peggy stepped back. “I have my own napkins, thank you,” she used the pile of napkins on her own tray. “If you want to help, you can start by wiping down the interior of my purse,” she snapped.

“There’s no need for that,” Pierce reassured. “Here, I’ll go get a few more paper towels, and you can line your purse with them and leave them to soak up the moisture.”

“Thank you,” Peggy said graciously, still giving Clint a death glare that dissipated into silent giggles as soon as Pierce had his back turned. Clint handed over four small fireworks, each with a hook so they could be mounted into a wall. The plethora of napkins Pierce brought back hid them from view. Then Peggy and Pierce disappeared downstairs, so no one was able to see where Peggy planted three of her fireworks. Clint, however, planted his extra two in the opposite side of the mess hall and in the mailroom, purely to throw suspicion off Peggy.

Peggy’s fourth firework was placed directly on a bar of Laura’s cell, hidden from Pierce’s view but clearly visible to the prisoner, who’s one unswollen eye sparkled with the joyful realization that she was about to be rescued.

“Okay, Cap, you’re up.”

Steve was already halfway up the cables of the elevator he’d destroyed. “Were you trying to make the pun?”

“I will shoot you when you get back down here,” Fury replied.

Steve laughed as he swung his legs to close the distance to the Communications floor. “Tell me when Laura’s gotten out. I don’t want any kids caught in the crossfire,” he said, turning around to help Maria climb the rest of the distance, Natasha having gotten there a good five minutes before both of them.

Fury waited an alarming amount of time to reply, “That might take longer than we’ve got.”

“What?” Natasha demanded, furiously gesturing for Maria to go into the floor.

“The girl can’t walk. Shit,” Fury let out a litany of less family friendly words.

“Does she need one of us back down there?” Steve hissed into his comm. There were voices coming toward him, but if push came to shove, he was pretty sure he could take them down easily enough.

“No,” but even Fury sounded hesitant.

Twin crashes sounded: a distant one from downstairs, and a tinny one from Fury’s cameras. Natasha jumped from cable to cable until she was able to see the ground floor.

“Somebody crashed a truck into the building,” she said with a frown. “I can’t tell who it is from this far up.” She was so focused on the scene in front of her that she didn’t see Bucky on the floor above her raise his gun. Wincing at the lecture Dr. Cho was bound to give him, Steve yanked his injured hands free of their casts to grab a cable and swing himself in front of the bullet. It grazed his arm near his shoulder, and he dropped the cable in his shock. For one glorious second, the ground rushed up at him. Then two hands caught his and wrenched him up. He looked up to see Natasha and Bucky holding him between each other and carefully maneuvering themselves to get him closer to the floor. Natasha all but threw him to the floor before taking the canister of Helen’s spray-on bandages off his belt and spraying more than was necessary on Steve’s injury. The instant Steve pushed her away, she had her gun out and pointed at the Winter Soldier.

“Natasha, I need you to go downstairs and find out what’s happening,” Steve ordered, stepping between them again. “He’s not going to hurt me.”

“HE ALWAYS HURTS YOU!” Natasha actually fired, but her hand was shaking so hard that the bullet would’ve missed even if Bucky hadn’t ducked out of the way. “EVERY TIME YOU MEET, HE ALWAYS HURTS YOU!”

Maria poked her head out of the control room. “Who hurt Steve?” she demanded, gun in hand and already aimed at Bucky.

“Nobody hurt me,” Steve nearly growled when he stepped in front of Bucky, hands held out at either side. “You saw, Natasha. You both kept me from falling.”

Bucky twitched behind him. Natasha oh-so-slowly lowered her gun in front of him.

“One of us should go downstairs and find out what’s happening on the first floor,” Steve kept his gaze pointedly at Natasha. “The best fighter, preferably.”

Natasha huffed, but he was right, and she wanted to be where Nick Fury was anyway. It didn’t take any convincing for her to slide down.

“We have control of the public address system,” Maria said when Steve turned his attention to her. She started walking toward the elevator cables, throwing “If you’re going to make your motivational speech, this is the time,” over her shoulder.

Steve managed to stand up and take one step toward Maria before Bucky pushed him out of the way and stalked toward a microphone prepared by a terrified intern.

“Is this going to be something I want to hear?” Maria asked Steve rhetorically before sliding down. If Steve had been paying attention, he might have realized he didn’t hear her land.

“Um, am I talking to all the SHIELD agents? Um, this is the Winter Soldier. I’m pretty sure you’ve heard of me and the things I’m supposed to have done. Some of you might have tried to hunt me down. I’m sure you all tried really hard, but I know you were set up to fail, because you all work for the same man that I do. Alexander Pierce is leading both SHIELD and HYDRA,” Bucky sighed. “You’re probably dismissing me as a liar, which isn’t completely unfair. But if I’m willing to admit that I’m here to kill Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov, Nick Fury, and Tony Stark’s parents, why would I lie about this? I know I’m going to get arrested. But I want to make sure I’m not the only one.”

Steve chuckled when Bucky let go of the microphone. “Were you planning on saying that when you came here?”

“I was planning to apologize, but I don’t know how to do that,” Bucky admitted, looking at Steve helplessly.

“You did great,” Steve didn’t manage to smile before one of Tony Stark’s robots burst through the floor and aimed its repulsars at Bucky.

“You know, having to do this every few minutes is getting kind of tiring,” Steve said as he stepped between Bucky and this new threat.

“You’re always welcome to let me do what I’m going to do anyway,” Tony’s voice came out of what might have been an anatomically accurate area of the robot.

“I can’t let this happen, Tony. I can’t,” Steve stepped forward and tried to sound more apologetic than he truly was.

“Your judgment is askew,” Tony sat from wherever he was.

“Maybe,” Steve replied, “but your isn’t any better.”

“I don’t care,” Tony sounded like he was on the verge of tears. “He killed my mom.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, actually honest this time. “Is anyone there with you? Dr. Banner? Pepper?”

“No, she’s not! Because after you got my fucking house blown up, she decided she needed to take a break!”

“That wasn’t my fault,” Steve said softly.

Tony snorted. “No, it wasn’t, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to-”

Gunshots from the doorway brought the robot crashing back down through the hole. Steve and Bucky turned to see Alexander Pierce holding a gun pointed at Bucky’s chest. Bucky seemed to shut down, standing at attention with dead, dead eyes.

“I thought the first time was an accident,” Pierce addressed Bucky. “All that blood, you probably thought he was dead. And the second time, he was with a SHIELD agent and another soldier—also unfortunate, but not completely unbelievable. But here he is now,” Pierce acknowledged Steve for the first time with a dismissive jerk of his chin, “and you’re still not killing him!” He got directly into Bucky’s face, but the man just lowered his gaze contritely, without taking a single step back or even so much as reaching for any of the guns that were clearly hidden on his person. Not even when Pierce slapped him across the face.

Steve made an angry noise low in his throat and stepped forward, gun aimed at Pierce’s chest. The secretary snorted, shaking his gun. “Drop your weapon, or I’ll drop mine,” Pierce grinned widely at his pun.

Steve wasn’t sure if the Soldier’s armor could protect him against a bullet to the chest, but he wasn’t willing to risk it. His gun fell to the floor, echoing in the room like a death knell. Pierce smiled at the sound and he slapped Bucky again, sadistic eyes looking directly at Steve.

“Stop,” Steve pleaded.

Pierce nodded to the floor. “Kneel down and beg me,” he ordered.

Steve swallowed his urge to fight and forced his knees to bend down. “Please, sir,” he said through gritted teeth, “please don’t hurt him anymore.”

Pierce punched Bucky in the head, sending him to the floor where he curled up and moaned, rocking back and forth. The familiar, hated bruise was visible through metal and flesh fingers.

“I’m afraid you can’t give me orders,” Pierce turned his gun on Steve.

“The hell I can’t,” Steve growled, rising to his feet. “I’m a Captain.”

Pierce punched Steve so hard in the face that it took a moment for Steve to realize he hadn’t actually been shot. The moment of confusion cost him, and by the time he stopped seeing double, Pierce’s gun was too close to avoid.

A shot rang out and Pierce fell, blood blooming across his chest.

“Soldier, looks like you’ve got a little crush,” Pierce actually laughed, the deathly wheeze accompanying him. “What do you think this is going to do?”

“I think it keeps you from hurting Steve,” Bucky’s voice was shaking and quiet, but it was there. Steve thought he might be proud.

“Cut off one head, and two more will take its place,” Pierce’s smile was full of blood. He coughed. “Hail Hy-”

Bucky fired his handgun into Pierce’s face until it resembled hamburger meat and he was out of bullets.

“We should go find two more,” Steve wiped off an errant spray of blood from his face with his hand.

“Fuck you,” Bucky said roughly, kneeling down beside him.

“Maybe later,” much later, because there was a warm patch of blood on his leg that wasn’t his. Steve frowned and lifted his arms to pat Bucky down as best he could.

“Don’t be scared. I have one gun in a holster between my shoulders, there are two strapped to my-”

“I’m checking you for injuries, not weapons,” Steve said impatiently. There was a worrying amount of blood from a score down Bucky’s side, probably made by one of the three metal plates missing from his arm. Steve fumbled for his bandages, but Bucky took them out of his hands and sprayed it directly against the wound. Steve yelped, partially in pain and partially in protest that the motion had opened up the cut on Bucky’s side so that it was once again oozing blood.

“Bucky, stop!” Steve pushed lightly against Bucky’s shoulders so that he was forced to look up and stop spraying. “Let me get that,” Steve pointed to the wound on Bucky’s side, taking the canister from him.

Bucky grabbed both of Steve’s hands to slide two casts back in their appropriate places. “I heal fast,” he said urgently. “Don’t waste your medical supplies on me.”

“It’s not wasting if it can help you,” Steve said evenly, most managing to keep his hands from shaking. Someone had told Bucky that he wasn’t even worth a simple bandage when he was bleeding.

“You are,” Bucky insisted, but there was no energy in his voice as pulled out of of his myriad guns and aimed it at Steve’s chest.

Steve tensed, but he made no move to go for any of his weapons.

“For fuck’s sake, can you just fight me like anyone with a normal sense of self-preservation would do?” Bucky pleaded.

“No one’s coming after us anymore,” Steve promised. As soon as he spoke, he heard the soft footfalls of at least two people trying to be stealthy coming up behind him. Judging from Bucky’s pointed look, he’d heard it too.

Bucky swallowed and flipped his gun over so that the handle was facing Steve and the barrel facing Bucky himself, and he offered it to Steve.

“What the hell, Buck?” Steve demanded, refusing to even touch the thing.

“They’re coming for me,” Bucky said simply. “I’m tired of running.”

“Then let me protect you!”

“Listen to me. You’re on the top of HYDRA’s kill list, and I’m the top HYDRA killer, do the math” Bucky spat. “You can’t protect me; you’d just die trying, and then more people will die because you won’t be able to protect them. People who actually deserve-”

“You know who deserved protection?” Steve stood up, “my old team. They deserved to live and I let us die in the desert.” Steve wasn’t sure if the warm, gritty taste in his mouth was sand or nausea. “I was supposed to lead them. Dernier, Dum Dum, and Falsworth, they all expected me to lead them through missions. And because of one goddamn bomb, I led us right off a bridge into a river instead. I didn’t even have the decency to die. And the Commandos who didn’t drown immediately have made it clear that I’m dead to them. So tell me,” Steve took Bucky’s gun and held it to his own head, “if I could protect you by being dead, why wouldn’t I do that?”

“Steve,” Bucky stepped forward.

Steve stepped back. “You're gonna be okay,” he promised before firing.

Pain exploded in his ear, louder than Bucky’s horrified scream, and Steve’s body felt unusually heavy as he fell forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve argues that he can protect Bucky, who refuses on the basis that he doesn't deserve it and Steve is setting himself up to fail. Steve confesses that he blames himself for driving a truck with a bomb into a river, killing Dum Dum, Dernier, and Falsworth. He also assumes that Jones and Morita's refusal to talk to him is evidence that they wish he was dead, too. After this, he shoots himself in the head. (Or does he?)


	9. Even Though You're Scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve wakes up. Nobody is happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of right now, this story is complete. However, due to issues with an artist (which is totally not her fault, I really should've planned all of this better) there will be one more chapter that will be a link to her art. The final chapter count will be 10. When/if you get a new chapter alert, it won't be a "real" chapter.

_“You’re stronger than you know._  
 _If you’re lost somewhere the lights are blinding_  
_Caught in all, the stars are hiding_  
_That’s when something wild calls you home_.”

Steve could’ve believed he’d finally done it this time, but Sam was sitting next to something beeping, and he could smell the plastic cherry scent.

“You couldn’t play anything actually good?” Steve squinted at Sam.

“I’ll have you know that this girl’s got more talent, and fucking _common sense_ , than you’ve got in your entire body,” Sam’s voice was strangely muffled.

“Can you say that again?” Steve asked, reaching up to touch his ears, only to find his hands cuffed to the metal railing on the side of his bed.

“You’re on suicide watch,” Sam said darkly, “on account of trying to fucking _shoot_ yourself in the _face_.”

“The bullet hit your ear,” said an all-too-familiar man from the other side of the bed, “because I tackled you at the last minute.”

Steve turned to see Jim Morita behind Gabe Jones’ wheelchair.

“I was almost too late,” Jim’s voice cracked. “God, if I’d known-” he clenched his jaw shut with a click. “I understand if I’m not welcome,” he said, looking down. Gabe reached behind him for his hand and clenched tightly.

“You’re always welcome,” Steve said as quickly as he could. “You’ve always been welcome. I just…” he swallowed. “I don’t want either of you to feel obligated to stick with,” he gestured to himself.

Guilty comprehension spread across Jim’s face. “Jesus,” he muttered. “Jesus, we’re so fucking stupid.”

“Speak for yourself,” Gabe muttered, still holding his hand and averting his gaze.

Jim snorted, but his amusement was short-lived. “I,” he gritted his teeth and sounded like he was getting a bullet extracted from of his stomach, “I thought you wouldn’t want to see the man who couldn’t fucking disable a bomb when it counted.”

Gabe scoffed. “Are you still going on about that?” he looked up. “I was the one on watch.”

“I never knew,” Steve swallowed. “I didn’t know you blamed yourselves, too.”

They sat in silence for a long time before Steve admitted, “I should’ve called, been brave for once in my life.” He saw Gabe open his mouth to protest and quickly added, “Leaping in front of bullets and jumping on top of grenades isn’t bravery, not when you’re doing because you want to die more than you want someone else to live.” He thought about letting go with a bullet in his stomach. He thought about rolling over Jubilee with his head clearly exposed instead of ducked under his arm. He thought about shooting himself and telling Bucky it was for him.

God, he’d almost put that on _Bucky_.

“Is Bucky around?” he asked. “I…I have to apologize.”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Gabe asked.

“Me.”

The curtain slid open to reveal Jubilee and Peggy, both drenched in glitter, and Sharon, who was just plain drenched, sitting next to a still-sleeping Laura. It also revealed Bucky wearing nothing but a red henley, jeans, and fury so palpable that Steve actually gulped.

Even when Bucky had been wearing his Soldier’s armor, he had only been terrifying in the way that zombies were terrifying: something that took advantage of the dark to attack. Now, completely disarmed, he was terrifying like nothing Steve could describe. Steve was pretty sure he was about to die, and the worst part was that it would be entirely his fault.

“Never again,” Bucky jabbed a shaking finger into Steve's chest. “Never again, you hear me, Rogers? Do you fucking hear me?" Bucky's voice cracked, and Steve was pretty sure his heart did, too. “If you think someone’s going to kill me, the solution is NOT FUCKING KILLING YOURSELF!”

“I couldn’t just sit back,” Steve protested. “You were laying down your life; I’ve got no right to do any less than that.”

Bucky scoffed and shook his head. “You don’t have anything to prove,” he protested. "You saved my life on that cruise ship, and you got hurt for it. HYDRA kept hurting you.” He looked down at his feet. “ _I_ kept hurting you.”

“Bucky, no!” Steve reached out for Bucky's hand without thinking. “That night on the cruise ship, you called Natasha, right? Asked her to help me?” When Bucky still refused to look at him, he pressed on. “You got back my mom’s portrait because you didn’t want me to get hurt. You helped Natasha catch me in the elevator shaft when she was your target. You saved me, and you kept saving me!”

Bucky didn’t look up. “You saved me first,” he mumbled. “Saving you back was the least I could do.”

"The least you could've done was nothing," Steve disagreed. “Then I would’ve died.”

“Well, you almost made that true,” Bucky retorted, but he was looking up at Steve again. “You can’t do that, please don’t do that,” he sank to the floor.

“I can’t see something that has to be done and not try to do it,” Steve tugged at their joined hands until Bucky rose again.

“When did that include killing yourself instead of asking for help?” Sam asked icily.

“I asked for help,” Steve protested feebly. “I asked you to help me.”

“You asked me to dump SHIELD files to the public while they were your only potential allies,” Sam half-shouted. “That’s _not_ the asking for help, that’s asking me to enable your self-destruction. You had no intentions of leaving that building alive. You made me an enabler. You put me there just to watch you fall.”

Steve couldn’t say anything in the face of how badly he had hurt Sam. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t…I really didn’t walk into the Triskelion knowing I was going to die.”

“You were just fine with taking one of the few friends we’ve got left,” Gabe said, tone soothing despite his words. “We want to help you, Stevie. Can you let us?”

Steve wanted to hide his face in his hands, but this was the price for having hid for so long. “Okay,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“This is on us as much as it is on you,” Jim insisted. “We’re the ones who thought you’d be okay because you weren’t crying and screaming.”

Bucky squeezed Steve’s hand.

“I can’t stop taking a bullet for someone if they need me to,” Steve said.

“But you have to stop taking it just because you want to,” Natasha said, poking her head in, smiling wistfully. “I would’ve liked to have a future with the right side,” she said, looking at the file in her hand.

“There’s no such thing as the right side,” Steve said irritably. “Only the side you think is worth fighting for.”

“That’s why we dumped all the files on the internet,” Maria said as she came in. She stared pointedly at Steve’s face, which he was failing to force into an innocent expression.

“Yeah, the ones you wanted Sam to help you steal. He flew me away from the cables and asked for my help, and then I asked for Natasha’s help, because that’s what friends _do_.”

Steve turned to Sam, who didn’t look even a little repentant.

“Anyway, the files say you died on the Causeway, and I’m going to leave before I make that partially true,” Maria stormed out of the room, loudly enough that Sharon and Peggy both turned. Sharon waved cheerily, and Steve did his best to do the same before Peggy stalked over and closed the curtain behind her.

“Peggy-”

“Do you value your friends?” Peggy demanded.

“You know I do. They thought I was worth dying for,” Steve said miserably.

“Well, we think you’re worth living for, too,” Gabe added. He looked up at Peggy, who relented and pulled out a file stamped “Operation Nomad.”

“You have to understand that I’m only giving you this because you need to disappear with us before the world realizes you’re not dead,” Peggy said.

Steve’s eyes filled with tears. “I can-”

“None of us are doing this for you,” Peggy continued. “There’s a girl behind me who’s been distrusted by everyone she’d ever met in her life, until my daughter bombed SHIELD to its foundation for her,” and she was talking about Jubilee but staring at Steve, “and if she got caught up in this mess with Stark-”

“Stark?” Steve looked up, eyes wide.

“No one’s ever going to trust SHIELD again,” Natasha explained. “We made sure. But SHIELD meant something to Stark, so we think he wants to build an AI to do the same job.”

“Which will inevitably lead to the same outcome,” Peggy continued.

“You’re throwing him into a mission when he hasn’t even started recovering from the last one,” Bucky looked like he bled poison.

“We have to,” Peggy took a step toward him with the file, held out like a sword. “You can’t be protected from the grid unless you’re off the grid.”

Bucky flipped a few pages, and a slow grin spread across his face. Jim held out an inquisitive hand, and Bucky gave him the file, too.

“So when can we start?” Gabe fairly glowed with excitement.

“We just did,” Peggy offered her hand to shake.

 

* * *

 

"I call attic!" Jubilee ran ahead, dragging Laura with her.

"You can't call the attic," Sharon was five steps behind her. "Mom said we have to share!"

"Is it too late to back out?" Steve asked, looking at the farmhouse in trepidation.

Bucky kissed him. "Are you ready?"

Steve tightened his grip on Bucky's fingers. "I guess so."

" _If you face the fear that keeps you frozen_  
_Chase the sky into the ocean_  
_That's when something wild calls you home, home._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to make this a series that will eventually remix Ultron and Thor: Ragnarok when it comes out.


End file.
